Side Story (S): Don't Call Me Baby
by InfinitNei
Summary: Ever since Saburōta could remember, Neirah was there. As far as he was concerned, his life began the day he met her & followed her to HOMRA, where he'd been ever since. But as much as he wanted to ignore his past, it seemed like loving her wasn't an option until he'd accepted it. ((Completely omittable developmental content relevant with A World on Fire. Target focus: Saburōta))
1. Synchronize

**Synchronize**

* * *

_**September 15th, 2012 10:19 pm**_

Crystal eyes reflected a kaleidoscope of colour in the strobes of the hazy club. Saburōta could see that even with his heavy-lidded ebony stare concealed behind large, dark sunglasses. It probably wasn't necessary for him to be wearing them indoors, even with the bright display pulsing to the sound of music that was way too loud. After all, that's why he was there; to abuse his senses until all he could recognize was the nightlife celebrating around him. The last person he expected to be joining him was HOMRA's hunter.

Her dark, auburn hair was spilling over her shoulders and unexpectedly wavy at her back. A few styled ringlets were even pinned neatly by a jewelled clasp at the base of her crown. Saburōta hadn't recalled having ever seen her style her hair, and instead of her savage denim-and-leather guise, a sleek black gown painted her bronzed skin. Dusky, thigh-high boots met the slit that went all the way up one leg, and the low-hanging backline flashed toned muscle with every motion as subtle as raising her drink to painted lips. Announced by the dominant play of tone, the glass she returned to the bar carried marks of her perfectly curved pout in recognizable rosewood shades. Like the predator she was, her smoky eyes scoured the club like she was looking for a white collar to stain.

He had a white collar.

He must have looked ridiculous, standing there in the middle of the floor halfway between the bar and the front door with his jaw gaping, body locked in a position contemplating retreat. Whereas he had just turned twenty, getting his feet wet in the mature world of indulgence, she was six months into the experience. Not that their calendar ages would have mattered. No matter the legitimate difference, she had been one of the most mature women he'd ever met, and it showed.

A part of that had frustrated him, turning his expression sour. _Baby_, that was what she called him. But it wasn't a sweet-talking pet name. It was cute, unserious, and she said it in a tone that she might use if she were speaking to a child. He never heard her call to him in that sultry, seductive voice she used on Yō or Saruhiko. Sadly, he had listened to her drone flirtatiously with _enemies_ more than she ever had with him. She'd never used it in his address. He was her pet, for all intents and purposes, since the day she found him in the boatyard and took him home like a stray.

He relaxed, moderately, picking up his jaw as he shuffled out of traffic. Somewhere between then and now, the endearment behind Neirah's sing-song voice stopped being enough, and how could it be, with her sitting at the bar looking like that? His throat dryly worked as he watched her switch the leg she had folded, her skin shimmering in the interchanging aurora. At best, it was an invitation; if not, a trap. There was no other explanation for the way she sat so poised on the leather stool of an unfamiliar bar basking in her betrayal.

She was beautiful from the start and far too deadly to be looking as vulnerable as she did that night. But as he watched her sharp expression observe the swish of melting ice in her stumpy glassware, he could have sworn there was colour in her cheeks. It might have been painted there. He'd honestly never seen her with so much makeup on before, but there was also a chance that she was looking for company.

The thought struck his intoxicated mind with mixed feelings. The defensive instinct that had been predominant within him since the day he had met her made his fists tighten at his side, and his disapproving gaze began to comb the club. If there were a chance that she was there with someone outside of HOMRA's knowledge, there would be hell to pay, and his wrath would look mild against Izumo's. She was theirs, their hunter, their queen. Her heart belonged to them, and she'd said so herself.

Then, there was something else. It was the feeling beginning to make Saburōta's wrenching fist quake. There was a chance that their mighty lioness, despite all their fond memories, was feeling lonely, that the heart of the woman still trying desperately to beat beneath the breast of a warrior yearned for tenderness.

Sometimes, he worried that he was the only one who could see it behind her eyes. Deeper than the ocean of blue that raged like a tsunami, fiercer than the fire that battled the waves for a place in her lethal stare, there was something else. There was a gentle creature too timid to love anything too deeply in fear that they would slip out of her hands forever. Sometimes he even wondered if it was only there when she wanted it to be.

It may have been because he was holding the air in his lungs without realizing it, but the heavy respire that escaped him startled him back to his senses and forced him to catch his breath. His gaze dropped to the floor by his feet, and he focused on the hazy grain of smoke clouds dusting the dark nightclub with mesmeric bursts of colour. The place was full of it, life and light, and so many colours. But when he raised his passing observation and watched a man, nearly too drunk to stand, lay his palm on the base of Neirah's bare spine, all he could see was red.

Neirah's gaze fluttered but didn't shift when she felt bold lips press to her ear. The club was so loud that she still couldn't quite hear his words even as he spoke them in a mild shout. Then again, that might have been because she didn't care. His hand was cold as it laid against her spine that the low cut of her dress revealed, and something about that twisted her face up in disgust— Cold, like the world. The hands to hold her were usually so warm that they'd seared marks onto her heart. Anything less wasn't worthy of her attention.

Lean fingers raised to her throat to lay one long crimson fingernail on the glass bead swaying with the turn of her head. He wasn't the one, and maybe if she ignored him, he would go away. Her impatience began to increase when she felt the pressure curl around her hip like it was welcome, and she was dismayed to consider that her avoidance hadn't gotten her point across. But laying the man out on his back and choking him with the spike heel of her boot didn't seem appropriate either. Besides, some men were into that sort of thing.

With an impatient huff, her heavy cup clattered against the bar hard enough that if Izumo had been on the other side, he would have lectured her for sure. But he wasn't. She was alone and not in the mood to start a war in her current inebriated state. She could hear the man's dismay as she climbed to her feet, spinning to hasten her leave. But upon her exit, she powered straight into a familiar face instead.

It was hard to tell which one of them was more surprised by the contact, neither of them sober enough to be bumping into _anything_ much less each other because the looks that connected warned that the two of them had a lot of explaining to do. Neirah was the first to attempt an excuse when she watched Saburōta's head rise, and she was startled into silence when she felt his arm creep around her shoulder. It didn't take her long to understand why he had done so. She tilted her alert scowl over her shoulder to the look of defeat overcoming the face of her company, and she felt a heaving sigh escape her like steam from an exhaust port.

Neirah's expression softened when Saburōta quickly retracted his arm in apology, his appearance suddenly timid with apprehension. He always acted tougher when someone was watching. She hadn't been the least bit disapproving of his efforts, though. Truthfully, she couldn't be more relieved, but it was almost too precious to watch him try to justify his intrusion, part angry, all adorable. She grinned gratefully to set him at ease. "Bandō, baby, am I glad to see you."

There it was again. _Baby_. The _awe, look how cute you are trying to act tough_ tone. It grated. Usually, Saburōta might not have been so edgy because he knew she meant well, but the alcohol that he'd consumed working up the nerve to be where he stood wasn't helping. He knew she didn't need his help, so why did he bother? Given their history, every time he tried to support her, he always seemed to make things worse. With a hearty sigh, he surrendered the need to battle for his pride and climbed into a free seat before slumping over the ebony bar. "You're lucky it was me," he grumbled evenly. "If it'd been any of the others, this place would be in flames right now."

"You're right. Chitose-kun probably would have killed the poor guy." Neirah's expression twisted up into a soft, amused pout, but the familiarity comforted her. "I get the feeling that was probably your intention all along." Her smile broadened as he placed his order and folded his arms on the ledge, hiding what had remained of his visible face against them.

"Kusanagi-san says you can't date until you're thirty," he reasoned in a muffled drawl. Despite stirring the subject, he was careful not to delve too deep into the memory that would see his previous drunken outbursts come to light. Eventually, he diverted his face entirely to hide the spiteful flush in his cheeks just considering how ridiculous he must have sounded to her the night Misaki had returned her from the clutches of their enemies. His clanmates hadn't let him live down the sour recollection, and thus, his unspoken feelings for her became the laughingstock of their company.

Surprised by his admittance, she wrinkled her nose with feigned disgust. "So _Onii-san_ sent you after me?" Considering the reason that she was sitting there in the first place, she somehow doubted that, but she thought it best to play along. "The coward didn't have the nerve to bust me himself?"

Saburōta tipped his head further away with a disgruntled snort, trying his hardest to conceal the way his face glowed with his withdrawn impatience. "You're too good for these losers, and you know it, so stop screwin' around and just go home. You know Totsuka's probably worried about you."

Through traces of sympathy over the misunderstanding, Neirah diverted her gaze and reclaimed her seat at the bar with a soft sigh. "Mn, that seems unlikely," she purred mischievously. "He's probably just fine somewhere with King-sama. Besides, it looks like you might need a wingman. I don't mind filling in for Shōhei."

Saburōta wanted to get the last word in, but all he could think about when she remarked was that Neirah could probably get more attention from the ladies than he could when she looked the way she did that night. That was a dangerous place for his thoughts to travel when he was feeling so disjointed. Something about her undaunted confidence made his look like a sham. Ever since he'd met her, she made it look so easy, even in the face of danger, and something about that pissed him off.

Noticing that he was continuing to pout, she leant over the bar curiously, reaching out and grabbing the beak of his snapback with her thumb and forefinger. She peeked beneath it with a playful grin, catching the sight of his deep blush beneath the protection of his shades. "Mn, too bright, baby? I could probably get them to turn the lights down without maiming anyone looking like this."

There it was again, and he was helpless to stop it. He felt it as soon as he grabbed his cap with both hands and pressed it lower against his brow to hide from the woman's maternal doting. "Don't call me that," he grumbled bleakly beneath his breath. It sounded slightly less confrontational than _I'm not a damn child. I'm a grown man, can't you tell? _Because it was apparent, right?

Unable to catch his bitter mumbling, she edged closer and begged his pardon. "Hm? Did you say something, Wolf-kun?"

As if his childish tantrum wasn't enough, he wagged his head from side to side beneath his hood to deny her prying. Maybe it made sense that she treated him like a child. He was quite evidently too immature to even consider the woman beside him as a potential-

What?

His body stiffened as recognition sent shivers down his spine. What did he think he was going to accomplish that night trying to play the hero? Suddenly, he was stricken with a humiliation that made him feel nauseous. Neirah didn't need a hero. She didn't need anybody, and she never did. She was a proud, powerful woman; a fierce hunter born of wind and flame. The sheer intensity of her gaze alone could strike fear in the hearts of seasoned gangsters, and there he sat his juvenile hide down in her majesty's territory in hopes that she might devour him.

He felt his teeth mill, and he silently begged that Neirah hadn't detected it too. The pressure was unbearable, and by the time their host had served his drink, he required a second because he slammed it back like he thought it had the power to help him re-evaluate his circumstance. Nope. It most certainly did not, and neither did the next. The worst part was, he knew he could be a blackout drunk, and the last person he should be making himself vulnerable in front of was her; anyone but her. He knew he was going to wind up making a complete fool of himself, but he couldn't stop. If nothing else, he may have managed to get just drunk enough that her utter rejection might not leave scars on his already fragile heart. At the very least, maybe _baby_ wouldn't sound so bad after a few more rounds because enduring it seemed like the better option for his pride.

Instead, Saburōta just watched behind the dark tint of his eyewear as she stained her whisky glass with the deepest of reds, and a part of him wondered if the silence was comfortable for her. She'd always had a strange taste for bourbon, which had shocked a lot of their fellow clansmen when she came of age. Izumo teased that she was a woman after his own heart, but not even Izumo drank straight bourbon regularly. Then again, she had always had a taste for something robust.

Surprisingly, that night she hadn't bothered to chastise him for his actions, his drinking especially. Ever since he'd joined, there were times when she acted like HOMRA's big sister, and he had heard her challenge many of their comrades' bad habits before. Her interference usually led to conflict, or in Misaki's case, outright violence, but he couldn't consciously recall ever being reprimanded by her. Every time she was displeased by the way he acted, she always blamed someone else for passing on their behaviours. She was still defending him, protecting him like he was delicate. _Poor baby Bandō_… The thought had his fist clenched around his glass.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

Saburōta almost fell right out of his stool with the impact of her words, and he immediately shot upright to focus his attention on her reassuring smile. He heaved bated breaths, observing her carefully as she continued to watch the liquor bottles across from them reflect the ever-changing lights. What _was_ wrong? He didn't even know himself, so how was he supposed to pass it along to her? Even if he knew, did he want her help? _Poor Saburōta's being picked on again. _Despite all their battles, their years spent together, was his helplessness the night they met all she could see?

But she was a fantasy, and she had been since that day. The woman he had his hidden eye on for the past four years couldn't take him seriously. He respected her, admired her, but he wasn't the only one. She could have tapped the shoulder of any single man in the club and walked away with him. He was sure of it. But she likely wouldn't so long as he was watching, and not because she wasn't interested, but because heaven forbid, she hurt her precious Wolf-kun's feelings. Another drink, another stifled surge of destructive energy warning that the club might still end up razed. He would have, probably quite literally, killed for someone to make a move on her now.

It was a dangerous gamble from the start because he knew that he could be intensely emotional when he was under the influence, and that's when all his secrets spilled over. If he could keep the fire in his heart and burn with rage, he might be able to save himself the bulk of the embarrassment come morning. The last thing he needed was to gush to Neirah for the umpteenth time without their friends there to drag him to his senses. With his luck, he'd get in her lap and be naming their next two or three fantasy children.

But when he turned to peek her way again and make sure nobody had dared to penetrate their bubble, he froze. Like a deer caught in traffic, his wild gaze locked with the sight of hers as she slowly connected them like she'd heard his thoughts. He knew there was no way she could tell where he was looking, so he couldn't figure out how her powerful stare had managed to pierce him so perfectly. His throat ached as he choked down a hard swallow, and his guilt flooded his cheeks.

Saburōta could feel it in his chest as the painfully hard knock of his heart fought to escape her intensity. He'd seen things during his time with HOMRA, but nothing had buried such a deep seed of fear within him as the sight of her predatory stare. That may have been because it was his kryptonite. Soon, he'd begun to question whether the timid creature caged within ever really existed at all.

But why? Where was it coming from? That calm expression on her face and her relaxed body sitting next to him so casually, why weren't they communicating with her eyes? He watched the colours dance with the fire and waves, the passion and indifference.

The sentiment repeated in his mind until he heard his voice speak it within his consciousness. He wanted to reach for his chest, alarm brewing for his circumstance. It could have been the alcohol making him feel so strange, but he had consumed a lot more in a lot less time, on occasion. No, it was clear. That look in her eyes was petrifying his body like she'd cast a dark spell. Had she ever looked at him like that? Had she ever looked at _anyone_ like that? And more importantly, did they survive it?

Maybe it was because she thought he couldn't hear her blanket statement that she leaned in closer, but that hadn't explained why her fingers curled around his thigh, lightly, casually. He still hadn't responded, and something about that was terrifying him. It was Neirah, HOMRA's Neirah, his Neirah… Together they'd challenged hell's fire and dragged devils straight back out to have their way. Through blood and battle, they were there for each other since the beginning; since his beginning, at least.

Even his gaze remained fixed over her shoulder as she approached and pressed her powdered cheek to his. He was embarrassed that he couldn't seem to catch his breath, something that he was helpless to battle and that she would undoubtedly be aware of as she lingered so closely. But when she spoke her words near enough to his ear that he could feel the warm whisper of her breath against him, the laboured heaving subsided entirely.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Consciously, that comment may not have seemed too far out of place. Neirah was their lioness, and a multitude of their fellow clansmen had made similar remarks regularly. The execution of the comment had been a little unnecessary, but not unwelcome. What had staggered him was the tone in which she drawled the smooth and seductive song. She had to speak loud enough for him to hear her over the music, but it still sounded like a whisper. At that moment, he had never felt so helpless, and the dread was making his nape perspire like the woman was unpredictable, like he didn't know her better than he knew himself. Was it his uncertainty that had filled him with such conflicting emotions or the beast in her eyes?

_Cat._

The Red Lion was sitting next to him in a humid club, lapping at lips saturated with hard liquor. All he could see was a lean jungle beast, crouched in the reeds and cleaning her whiskers as she stalked her prey from the shadows with bright eyes fixed.

_Tongue._

Where was his? It was pinched so tightly behind his teeth that he thought he might gag on the very thought of giving it to her.

He snapped himself out of his trance, dropping his head upon resurfacing into reality and staring wildly at the floor between them as he panted for air. She'd figured him out. "Shit…" In an instant, she had uncovered the secrets he'd been keeping from everyone and himself. Relief wasn't what came afterwards, though. He didn't feel the weight lift from his chest, but that might have been because the hand she had previously rested against his leg had climbed. Once he had started to find his way back down from the stars, he noticed that her claws had sunk into his shirt, fisting the material tightly enough that it put pressure on his shoulders and drew him forward in his seat.

He seemed to be more lifelike when she encouraged him towards her like he'd shaken whatever thoughts were keeping him distant. Gratitude flashed in her smile, even as his tension remained. He seemed to be conscious enough to comprehend her words this time, at the very least. "Sometimes we blunder, don't we?"

He'd had a third drink, right? Or was it a fourth? Where was it when he needed to banish the dry itch from his throat that made him want to cough it clear? He tried to make do without, understanding that the more he panted for breath like a dehydrated dog, the worse it would become. It was Neirah, their Neirah, his- "Y-you noticed, huh?" But why was she still holding onto him like she thought he might flee? Was he really that pathetic?

Satisfied with his admittance, even spurred by alcohol, Neirah slowly relaxed her grip on his collar and retracted her hand. Once she had both in front of her again, she raised them, feeling a little guilty that he flinched to the sight of them approaching his face. She slowed her approach, embarrassed that she was so abrasive her fellow clansmen felt the need to recoil whenever she made a sudden movement. A small, sheepish smile curled her lips as she took the arms of his sunglasses between her fingers. When he didn't resist her, she slowly slipped them from his face.

She was stricken, probably forcefully enough for him to have seen it in her face, but if he had, he didn't let it show. She was surprised that he didn't shy away from the contact when their eyes met without the protection of his accessory. It was a rare sight to match; his, that was. But every time it happened, those dusky eyes would draw her in until she vanished into the mesmeric void of his fixed gaze. It was an enigmatic nighttime skyscape, and if you followed the flame flickering freely from within, you would find yourself lost like she had, on occasion.

The last time she'd fallen by his side, she recalled a moment similar. The apology that was in his eyes the night years ago was still there, and she couldn't understand why. He had boasted superiority on many occasions, but the bold sentiment wasn't communicating with his eyes. It never did. She couldn't help feeling like maybe that's why he kept them hidden, so they didn't tattle the secrets that couldn't make it past his lips. Before she knew it, her smoky lids were falling over her eyes like she'd been captivated by the mystery.

"It wasn't easy, you know." Forcing herself to explain her findings, she quietly folded his glasses and set them on the bar between their empty drinks. "Even after all these years, you're still intent on being the wolf, aren't you?" Neirah hoped he caught the underlying sentiment behind her statement because she didn't want to outwardly challenge his feelings when she was as lightheaded as she was. Maybe he did have someone he could tell his secrets, but if that were the case, why did they still seem locked behind his eyes?

Neirah's fluttering heart couldn't give in just yet, though. So long as those eyes remained static, she wanted to be there in their calm glassy reflection. Her curiosity wanted to know what they saw, how they could linger when everyone else would shy away.

She came closer, and if Saburōta hadn't been so horrified, he might have tried to scramble away. But then she took hold of his collar again, rooting him in place as she grew nearer still.

It wasn't until she escaped his gaze, her breath on his collar, that she could feel her face flush around her blissful sigh. Every one of her friends agreed that she was a force, one capable of protecting her future. So why did he feel the need to save her that night? A powerless nobody watched a fight between superhumans ensue, and when things turned ugly, he stood up to the monster threatening the princess, only to realize later that she was a monster too. Every time she found herself in trouble, he was there with his arm around her. _I'll protect you,_ words he never said, but she always heard in the way he called to her. He could be so brave when he wanted to be, and it confused her to think that he had kept secrets from her for all these years.

Saburōta tipped his head back, his nervous gaze searching the dynamic room around them. Her breath was hot against his skin as she lingered, her hand still bound in his shirt to keep him from fleeing. He had to be sure of two important things before he closed his eyes; one, that none of their incriminating comrades were anywhere to be seen and two, that he had a clear path of escape if she went for the jugular.

The air he'd stolen moments ago in preparation to defend against her assault had rushed out of his lungs in a deep hiss as she peeled back his collar and tucked her nose between his hood and neck. It made the roots on his nape tingle, chills clawing up his spine like a taciturn warning. He was dizzy, unsteady, and when his head fell forward, he reached out to lay his hand against her shoulder to keep from falling out of his seat. That was when he noticed that her skin was hot, and not the typical kind of sizzle that came with a club full of raunchy gyrating bodies. She was burning up, and a brand of feverish that only a red could appreciate.

Neirah's predatory gaze had glazed over outside of his comprehension the moment he laid his touch on her skin. She was no stranger to contact with men, but there was something in the way he lingered that begged permission to stay, a courteous warning that if she didn't stop, he wouldn't either. _Can I?_ That respect, that devoted care had made her temperature rise until her eyes were drifting shut with enraptured bliss. _Yes_, is what she wanted to say. Unfortunately, when she parted her lips to do just that, she comprehended how close she had been to him all along.

A barren vacancy had stolen his gaze as he stared over her shoulder into the blurring lines before him, attempting to comprehend their shape. Where was he again? How exactly did he manage to end up like this? The moment his chest began to burn, he exhaled the breath he'd been keeping, a deep inhale following to consider the touch. No, the _kiss_. It was inattentive and lazy, but the contact against the side of his neck was soft and sticky with strawberry gloss. She was kissing him. Another deep breath saw his brow furrow, and tension stole his entire body. Fingers that once used her for support had curled in reaction to his strain, and he pinched his eyes shut to focus on the unexpected sensations.

Neirah's next gasping breath drew the clean ocean scent out of his freshly showered hair, and an unexpected zing of excitement caused her body to tremor. Being between his shirt's hood and his scorching flesh was drawing sweat to her brow beneath the pulsing strobes whirring outside of her comprehension. Thick lashes fell heavy until they fluttered entirely closed against his jaw. She knew that he would look like he'd been assaulted by the time she was through, the way she absently dragged her tinted lips over his neck and collar. The colour was inconvenient but all too appropriate as she painted her affections over his skin to mark her territory.

Endearing thoughts ensnared her again, and she was having a hard time keeping her focus on the task at hand. Saburōta had successfully managed to distract her. Neirah had never really taken the time to consider romance in her life, so she was a little nervous to contemplate that the way he'd spoken to her made it sound like he was confessing. Neirah felt like she should maybe be considering what that would mean for them if they let their intoxicated games get out of hand, but then, she could admit that she was having a hard time controlling her baser instincts.

Dusting from one side to the other, Neirah caught her breath to the feeling of his pressure increasing against her shoulder like a warning. _I'm losing control. _Was it wrong of her to be stricken by triumph at that very moment? All those times he would act so docile and innocent, they rushed to the surface to put a smile on her face. Were her lips all it took to induce truth? As her nose touched his jaw, she was careful to keep her chin from colliding with his damp skin. It was bad enough that her presence would stain his shirt. She didn't need to carry embarrassing traces of their immodest display on her face. Growing nervous about the mess she made, but in too deep to surface, she let her bright pink tongue slip from behind her swollen pout to taste his skin.

From the pit of his stomach, he felt the surprise well until he was catching the startled bark behind his teeth. He quickly drew his free hand to his face in a tight fist to stifle the sentiment he was forced to choke down. He couldn't wrap his thoughts around what was happening because every time he tried, her tongue was lapping at his flesh like she was savouring the way terror tasted on his racing pulse. Any moment, he knew she would part her salivating jaws, and that would be the end. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

Neirah's clammy fingers finally released his shirt, delicately sliding past the material and her wet kisses combined. Her thumb brushed against his jaw as he tipped his head back, instinctually showing her more to explore. She strained that stretch, her remaining fingers reaching the damp ends of his hair that sagged below the seam of his hat. Her heart was racing too quickly for her to catch her breath, but she was desperate to absorb the sensations laid out before her, every touch, taste, scent. And sound. She felt her thighs scour beneath her dress to the hum of him muffling his satisfied moan. When had he grown close enough that he was nearly resting his head on her shoulder?

It had to stop, all of it, and soon. With the last of his restraint, Saburōta shifted his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck. He begged her to notice his silent plea to spare him whatever she had in store, his fingers grasping at her roots in preparation to pull her away. He would do so as soon as his hands stopped shaking, and the strength returned to the limbs that she rendered useless with her poison.

_Please don't stop._ Neirah felt his plea from the roots of her hair to the tips of her painted toes. Electricity made her shudder with a deep gasp, and when her jaw parted, her teeth dragged against his pulse. What was it that was so intoxicating about such a simple, non-obtrusive action? It was a half part _give me more,_ and a quarter _I'll die if you leave me now_, just enough desperation and command with a final part promise, a promise that if she continued, nothing would ever be the same.

Suddenly stricken by the sentiment, she backed away, almost disappointed that his grip on her nape hadn't stopped her. Before she connected their gazes, she subtly rose her hand and wiped her face, making sure she didn't look like a lion after a gory meal when he looked her way. That wouldn't have been attractive in the slightest.

He experienced a rush of frigid air against his throat when she jerked away from her indulgence, and it left him feeling empty, like a part of him was missing. He lingered for a long moment with his neck craned to the side like he thought she might return to finish the job. Instead, she left him to bleed, suffering her cold indifference. _Look at him. Look at the sweet baby who thinks he can satisfy my appetite_. It echoed in his vacant mind as his half-lidded gaze faltered with disdain.

The initiation hadn't concluded. Two, ten, a hundred new hearts could call HOMRA home, and he was still the little brother everyone teased. Was it because he was immature? Was he that weak? For a long, pitiful moment, he contemplated demanding which one of their friends put her up to it. But he didn't know whether that was so he could choke them or whole-heartedly thank them. Even if it was just a taste, it was sweeter than he could have dreamed.

After Neirah successfully lined her lips, she let her glassy gaze climb until she could observe the regret in his diverted expression. With his head tilted, his marked skin was left exposed like he was disappointed she ever stopped. She didn't have time to watch the battle ensue between control and indulgence, though. Her self-control was just as unstable that night.

He closed his eyes as her fingers brushed against his cheeks, and he prepared himself for the numbness. He let her adjust his head, his fingers falling weakly from her nape until they touched her exposed tailbone. Why was her skin so hot? Was his the same way? All the tension had left his defeated body as he felt his fight drain.

The fiercely beautiful lioness…

The mysteriously elusive wolf…

She wanted to get lost, just once more, in those eyes, but he wouldn't raise them. Maybe it was because he knew that if he did, it would seal their fates. His responsibility had almost disappointed her. Would one taste be enough to satisfy her childish fantasies? Her brow knotted, and an ardent look of passionate determination twisted her flushed features. What a ridiculous question - of course, it wouldn't be.

The time that their gazes had connected was less than a second, his quietly raised, hers dropping in focus, but that half an instant was just enough for them to synchronize before their lips met. Gently touching first, the embrace almost seemed intimate, startling both racing hearts into a sense of urgency like the moment needed their protection at all costs. That was when Neirah's touch on his face had crept further back, knocking the hood from his crown. That was when Saburōta's fingers raised to her temple, brushing her hair back behind her ear to expose a line of glossy studs to the explosion of colour around them. Before they knew it, it was time to breathe, and when their lips parted to do so, they stayed parted.

Her brow creased with a desperate hunger as she swept her tongue across his, her anxious fingers prying at the roots of his hair until she disturbed the cap on his head. A determined apprehension darkened his expression as his second hand raised to cup her cheek, and he slid his intrusion immodestly past her teeth to taste the hard liquor on her tongue.

_How did it take us so long?_

All at once, the peaks of emotional waves collided, sending a rush of catastrophic magnitude down on his head. The impact had left him winded, and he jerked away from her contact, his scrambling fingers finding her shoulders so he could shove her away from him. His chest ached to contain the aggressive thumping of his heart beneath, and he silently begged her forgiveness for his delayed reaction in a moment of sheer vulnerability.

"O-Onē-san, what are you-?!" He yelped in alarm when she grabbed the beak of his jostled cap, jerking on it until it made his head snap forward beneath the pressure. He immediately regretted the way he made his rattled expulsion sound like he was blaming her for their circumstance. For all he knew, at that point, he could have been the one who started it. And no matter which one of them was guilty, he knew that when Izumo caught wind of his misstep, he was doomed to suffer the punishment stressed in the infamous Chitose Incident of '08.

Neirah's vexed pout was highlighted with a furious blush as she glowered at him frigidly. "Would you care to try that again?"

The noise around him concealed the modest whimper that sounded under his breath, but he still felt pitiful for uttering such a meek emission. _That_ was how you told someone they were calling you by the wrong name. He pushed back on her pressure, managing to raise his head so that it wasn't craned nearly as unnaturally. _E-eh…?_ To his surprise, her intensity seemed to subside, if only momentarily, as she checked her surroundings. Then, she leaned towards him and peeled the hat entirely from his crown.

She made sure to advance into his airspace before exhaling her disgruntled sigh, and beside them, she dropped his hat down over his sunglasses. Something about watching him shiver without the defence of his effects felt intimate. Thankfully, despite his evident alarm, he didn't flee from her touch when she caught his lower lip with one long, painted claw. "I don't care what the circumstances are. You don't kiss a girl like that and then call her your sister."

The look of sheer confusion on his face must have been somewhat alluring to her because even as his fleeting gaze searched her expression for sincerity, she didn't falter. Instead, she curled her fingertips around his head and caressed the roots of his hair freely, combing the dishevelled mess left behind from his cap to pass the time. He hadn't consciously appreciated how good it felt, but he did notice that his once broad field of vision had narrowed with his satisfaction.

That's right, and what a kiss it was. It already felt like a distant memory, but that could have been because of the inebriated state they'd found themselves in. Then again, he had four years of careful planning put into the embrace, and he wished he could remember half of the elaborate daydreams she'd headlined over the years. Though, it seemed unlikely that he was going to find the courage to ask her if they could try it again.

His sedation was intoxicating, but she wasn't ready for him to surrender just yet. Neirah knew for a while, through sudden fits of jealousy and mawkish gushing, that he harboured feelings for her. Her grip on his roots tightened as she drew nearer. When she was confident that she had his attention, she pulled harder until he upturned his lip to flash teeth with a discomforted hiss.

And she found him, so he was hers.

Neirah placed a tender kiss on the side of his mouth, where he'd first experienced her affections years ago. Then, she returned to the mess barely concealed beneath the bunched material of his shirt's hood. Her breath traced his jaw as she diverted towards his ear with a breathless sigh. After pinching the lobe between her teeth momentarily, she braced her brow against his temple and spoke. "I think I would have you call me Lion-chan tonight." The shiver she felt draw him away from her nearness had excited her, causing her anxious fingers to knead his scalp. "Any questions, Wolf-kun?"

The natural confidence in her sultry voice had made him feel small as she backed away and connected their gazes. He could see the desire in her weighted gaze. He could feel the passion in her fiery touch. But most importantly, when their gazes locked and lingered, he could see it, the nervous creature attempting to flee his notice with a promise.

"Y-yeah… I have one…"

His audacity seemed to please her, and as a result, the pigment in her face deepened. "Mn, speak."

It was hard for him to focus on his passing thoughts when she leaned close and pressed her eager kisses against his throat, a cold, wet trail flaunting her persistence as he dawdled. His eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, he just let himself indulge in case his clumsy tongue ruined it for both of them. His hand raised to her head, and after a silent moment of contemplation, he weaved his fingers into her wild tresses and stimulated her affections. She was a fantasy, and he knew that.

"Why me?" He felt her breathing hitch against his pulse, and it encouraged his throat to tighten. He wasn't brave enough to pressure her to stay when she began to back away, and he was delighted that she'd only done so to fix their gazes. His observance was cautious, souls speaking while they searched their consciousness' for conversation. That was when he saw it for the first time, something that had only ever introduced itself to Tatara. The skittish beastie circling the depths of her bright eyes had stopped and looked directly back at him. Then, it vanished entirely with a wicked smile.

Relief washed over him gratefully when his troubled thoughts forfeited beneath the taste of her lips coming over his, and his heart began to race. She hadn't answered his question, but the way she forced herself upon him had made him forget there was ever any doubt that he was the one she wanted.

"Do you really want to know the answer?"

He wanted her to do less talking and more tasting, and he didn't even know if that was possible when she was dominating him so passionately. She spoke her words between kisses too deep for him to interrupt with a reply, and just after he was sure he lost comprehension of her first rhetorical outburst, she spoke again.

"Or do you want to get me out of this dress?"

He didn't answer her, but that may have been, in part, because he had forgotten the original tangent of their conversation entirely. Completely disregarding her inquisition, his body instinctively responded when he wobbled to his unsteady feet and let her lazily intertwine their fingers. There was only one thing he remained conscious enough to remember before stalking the mesmeric sway of her hips out of the club. Nearly toppling over onto the floor with the liquid metamorphoses of the room around him, he slammed his hand on his hat and dragged it clumsily from the top of the bar. That left his abandoned sunglasses to clatter to the floor from beneath it in hopes that they would survive the next clumsy steps to stumble towards the establishment's bar.

It was funny, the kind of things you could see when you opened your eyes.


	2. Safeword

**Safeword**

* * *

It made sense to their distracted minds to find their way to his apartment, even if neither of them could remember how they'd gotten there. However that was, it had left them both dripping from head to toe in the run-down complex where maintenance had forgotten to turn the air conditioning off with the change of season. It was no secret that she had someone waiting for her at home, and if she didn't note her absence soon, it wouldn't matter if they'd picked somewhere else to be together because the whole city was going to wake to the sound of the search for her. Unfortunately, that was the last thing on Neirah's mind when she felt his warm palm against the base of her spine to usher her through his front door. The light fall rain had done nothing to douse their flame during their trek.

The pain of Saburōta's skull cracking up against the wall at his reverse caused him to groan against the pressure of her mouth, and their teeth clumsily knocked as they fumbled through the dark. His kisses were sloppy, leading her to believe one of two things; either he was too drunk, or too new. Both circumstances encouraged her to take the lead while he either sobered up or got comfortable with their situation. With that inspiration, her balled fists were clutched tightly in the sides of his jacket. As she attempted to undress him, the leather stayed trapped, dropping just past his shoulders but stuck on the forearms that refused to lower from her body for a second.

She fit perfectly between his legs, the pressure of her athletic curves trapping him between the partition and his escape that, even if he wanted, would be futile. Too immersed with each other's affections, the door that led them into the shoddy bachelor remained invitingly open. The hallway light of the incandescent amber bulb spilling into the room was the only warmth to be had while the cold air rushed in after it and froze their wet skin. It hadn't been raining hard, but enough that their hair was thoroughly saturated, Neirah's twisted locks shedding the kinks she'd curled into them earlier that evening. Her relaxed waves were back to dusting her haunches, and if her jewelled hairclip hadn't pinned her bangs, they would have adhered to her flushed face.

His did. Without the protection of his hat, he'd been victim to the same steady deluge. Neirah took notice of this right away, wringing her fingers through his bangs to peel them away from his brow. Her fingers were tense and raking like claws as her grip demanded an explanation for his idiosyncrasies. She did nothing to conceal her frustration with him, and his constant need to hide behind substantial effects that covered his handsome features from her needy indulgence.

But his touch seemed distracted, at first, like it took up too much of his processing power just to respond to her hungry kiss. Fingertips lingered in perfect symmetry on either side of her shapely hips, a nervous touch often witnessed at a middle school dance between two kids crushing on one another without the means to confess. That sort of teasing hadn't set well with Neirah, and she noted it in the way she knocked away his hands so that his wet jacket would finally thump against the floor.

Her kiss raised, skimming his pulse up the belly of his chin until she forced him to drop his head against the wall with an indulgent sigh. Her heels were unnecessary leverage in accessing his limp body, but she appreciated the ease. Otherwise, he would be too tall for her to make such an attempt. Once he had submitted to her passion, she paused only momentarily, to question him in a puffing tone. "Do you want me to close the door?"

"No."

Neirah blinked damp lashes at him a couple of times. The breathy reply had come so swiftly and absolute that it had caused her freed lips to curl into a wavy attempt at stifling her entertainment. She honestly couldn't figure out if he had noticed that he'd already answered her question. Did he even recognize she'd _asked_ a question? She figured that she was probably pretty safe to leave him braced against the wall. His posture wasn't great, but there was a good chance that in the fifteen seconds it took her to close the door behind them, he would remain upright. "I'm going to close the door," she evenly refuted. She figured there wasn't a chance of him stopping her even if he wanted to. At that point, a playful part of her wanted to demand that he not go anywhere in the meantime.

Even though it was already shuddering due to the cold, Neirah's breathing hitched with her surprise when he reached out with unusually swift reflexes for him to possess, far less a drunk him. She looked down to where he clasped her wrist, and it looked like he was unsure of what to do next. He didn't try to reclaim her, just lingered with a stern but kind grip lax around her arm. Her brow creased as she turned to face where the light had illuminated his troubled features, and not long after, he raised his second hand to cover his face.

The void returned when Saburōta released her, unsteady fingers retracting into his palm as his face flushed with humiliation. _Idiot_. That crossed his mind a couple of hundred times in the less than sixty seconds it took her to close his front door. His palm muffled his bated breath before his fingers peeled back his cold bangs to calm the fever on his brow. What was this? Where were they going? The apprehension of his thoughts made his jaw clench to mitigate the weight of their actions. What was going to become of them when day broke if they couldn't stop?

When the room blackened, he was stricken with an uneasy sense of vertigo, and his head began to spin. Thankfully, he remained propped against a sturdy incline, but he knew that all it would take was for her to stumble over his outstretched shin, and they would both be on the ground. He couldn't care at this point. He could vaguely recall the sound of a zipper, and a part of him had wondered why. A dull thud later, he had determined it was probably the sound of her removing her boots. It was beginning, and he didn't know if he was ready for it.

As expected, when Neirah returned to him, the body that pressed against his was about five inches shorter. Saburōta's eyes remained closed when he felt her soft fingers slide past his cheeks beneath his palm. Her touch was a welcome respite from the cold air wafting through the drafty building around their ankles, and when he lowered his contact from his face to her arm, he wasn't sure what he intended on doing with it. "I'm really drunk, aren't I?" He must have been to be asking such a ridiculous and apparent question, but it was all he could think about at that time.

Neirah's kohl lashes fluttered as she scanned the shadows with eyes still adjusting to the inadequate lighting of the room. Luckily, streetlights lit the way outside the single window, and it was enough for her to make out most of her surroundings.

She dropped her gaze, her bare toes shuffling against the icy floor to slide an empty can to the side, so it didn't pose a tripping hazard. Although, when she raised to observe the rest of the apartment, she wasn't sure why she had exhausted the effort. The entire room was laden with traps that were going to pose an issue to travel, and the thought made her groan doubtfully. "Bandō, baby, how do you live like this-?"

She jolted, successfully stifling her surprised squeal but not the short breath that interrupted the steady flow to come before. Her eyes widened like she thought that might help her see her lover clearly in the shadows, her upper arm burning beneath the formidable pressure of his fingertips.

The touch was different from the one that had grabbed her wrist before she closed his door. The one to snare her now was absolute and with purpose. Luckily, with his leather removed, his light shirt and pants helped her to locate him, and all that was left to do was try to make out the details of his expression as his sopping bangs hung low on his face.

"Don't call me that." His words were past his lips faster than he could comprehend them, and as soon as he had, his face was ablaze. In the quiet setting of his apartment, unlike the rioting club they escaped not long before, she could hear him. There was no need for him to harden his tone and repeat his earlier sentiment like she wasn't listening to him the first time. But he did. The callous words grated past ground teeth until their emittance caused him to flinch with sour memories. Why did he say it like that? All the while he was contemplating the address, his grip on her arm was weakening and beginning to quiver. "Don't…"

Should he apologize? She had to know that it bothered him, but she didn't stop. Was he too coarse with her? Was she angry? His head started spinning, or maybe it was the room. Something wasn't rooted anymore, and it was hard to tell from where he was standing what had broken free. He sealed his eyes tightly, water droplets beading from his lashes as he pinched them until it caused the pressure to tighten his brow. Why couldn't he say anything worthwhile to the woman he'd been pining for over the past four years?

Saburōta didn't know what he thought that opening his eyes to narrow slits would accomplish when he felt her shift again. All that wound up coming was another nauseating wave of dizziness. It made him surrender the sense entirely as she pressed her welcome warmth against his body, and some form of relief washed over him in stifling waves for her forgiveness.

"Don't call you what?" She asked him a question but didn't give him time to process an answer before her hands captured his and tugged them past her thighs. His touch was meeting the hem of her dress, and when she was confident that he received her subtleties, she encouraged him to fist his fingers in the silky material. It was clear that he was tense and uncomfortable considering her unspoken command, so she distracted him momentarily by laying her lips against his.

But the kisses were so sweet that she had been just as preoccupied as she intended for him to be, and her mind emptied. _Closer_. She wanted to be closer, but even with his skin against hers, she still felt like something lingered between them. There was an ominous presence she tried her hardest to ignore, but it kept clawing to the surface even as she focused on burying herself deeper into his touch.

She pressed one index finger to the bottom of his wrist, gently encouraging him to bring his hands back up her thighs and take her dress with them. As he obeyed, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his jaw just beneath his ear. An unspoken challenge filled her tone when she spoke next. A sinister little smirk curled her luscious pout until her teeth were tasting the stifling skin she'd previously marked with wine-coloured prints. "I kind of liked that little flare-up of yours." She liked how it begged for control. She didn't want to have a choice. She wanted his certainty.

_Look how precious you are, flexing your fangs_. By the time Saburōta's fists had found their way to her hips, his body had tensed. She was still doing it, even if it was unintentionally. He'd gotten a taste of that seductive drawl, but she was always chastising his inadequacies with it. As his thumbs curled under her bunched gown and hooked beneath the cotton band of her lacy red thong, the agitation made its way onto his brow.

She never answered his question, and a part of him didn't want to know the answer. Was that because he was afraid? Was he nervous about being an outlet for her frustration, her loneliness? Or maybe it was the fear of Izumo finding out that had him apprehensive. It was a good thing that the taste of her lips was to die for because he likely wouldn't survive the morning after, for one reason or another.

Then, there was something else leaking into his comprehension as a slow and skittish touch eased her lingerie past the healthy swell of her thighs. Once the material was past the toned muscle, it fell the floor soundlessly for her feet to step out of, and their situation became real again.

He'd fallen entranced by the feeling of her smooth skin beneath his fingers, and he hadn't apprehended that she'd managed to unbutton his shirt, both. He noticed when the cold air touched his skin once she shuffled, and all he wanted to do was beg her boiling body to return. Even without his suggestion, she had obliged, her fingertips pressing to the centre of his chest in a way that if he didn't have support behind him, he might've thought she was preparing to shove him backwards. She curled her fingers in the slightest until her long, polished nails licked his skin, and once they'd tasted the way he trembled, they began to drag.

She tipped her enchanted gaze to one side, watching the gentle glide of her nails trace his centre. Once they made it to his navel, they stopped, and she took into consideration how he hollowed his heaving midriff like he was trying to flee the contact. She let him catch his breath for a moment before her obsession saw her index finger remain and curl back upwards around the dark tribal lines that they shared.

His apprehension was frustrating her, but she tried not to hold it against him in his inebriated state. If she had wanted an experienced lover, she should have known that her clumsy Saburōta probably wasn't the ideal choice. But there was something else at play that had surfaced a couple of times subconsciously, and she wasn't even sure if he'd noticed. If he did, there was a good chance that he didn't know why it was there, so asking him seemed moot. Maybe it was her inebriation that made her impatient curiosity distract her, but she wanted to know everything. All the questions she never asked for fear of making him uncomfortable. She needed to know the answers.

But the old saying kept repeating in her unconscious mind. _Curiosity killed the cat_, is what she heard. Or the mood, in their case. There was active desperation between them that night that needed to be dealt with first, and although she felt like they were a bit out of order, she didn't mind the chaos. She embraced it, which was why when she heard his first throaty groan since their arrival, she dipped quietly to her knees.

The nervous hitching in his breath made her smile, and as her tongue slid up the centre of the HOMRA crest burned into his skin, he lost the ability to comprehend the feeling of her folding her fingers over his waistline. He seemed like he needed some encouragement because out of the corner of her eye, she watched apprehensive fingertips contemplate the need to touch her. It encouraged her to retract her tongue behind a smiling hiss, and she took his hand in hers, prompting it to rest against the back of her head.

And the touch that followed was silent encouragement. Saburōta was talking again without saying a word, and she could hear him. The trembling increase of pressure made her blush, and her smiling lips parted to pant her enthusiasm. "This is why."

Saburōta's hold on her faltered as he opened his eyes and tipped his curiosity towards her nearly incomprehensible whisper. He should have been more accustomed to seeing in the dark with the years he'd spent hiding behind his self-proclaimed _identity_, but he still had to squint to focus on her expression. All that he managed to comprehend was the sight of her bright-white smile reflecting what little light flooded the room, completely missing the way her thick lashes weighed heavily over her alluring gaze.

Like she heard his unspoken enquiry, she answered. "This isn't the way little brothers are supposed to pull their sister's hair."

He didn't know why the longing in her tone made him flinch away, immediately tearing his touch from her scalp. When he did, though, she climbed to her feet far too quickly for someone as drunk as he was to comprehend. Not only had she stood, but she had risen to the tips of her toes and dusted his ear with her lips as she spoke.

"I didn't ask you to stop." That was the last thing she wanted. There was airy desperation in her voice as she sighed against his neck, letting her fingers creep into his roots instead. She tightened her grip and hummed softly in consideration of his anxious moans. "Mn, you're so noisy," she whispered amorously against his jaw. "Is that because of the alcohol?"

Outside of her comprehension, his blush deepened. "Ah, s-sorry."

"Don't be." There was certainty in her tone as she settled back on the flats of her feet and looked up at his flustered expression. "That must mean that you like it too."

Saburōta had spent years yearning for her to address him in the same way he'd heard her speak to some of the others in their lives, but now that he'd gotten his wish, he hated it. It didn't sound right. It wasn't her. It was unfamiliar, and in his current state, it was beginning to feel more terrifying than exhilarating. He felt like a target, not an interest, and the consideration had his body shivering even after the cold was banished.

Neirah's sharp gaze had long softened outside of his comprehension, and the smile he avoided was disappointed. It was easier to ignore the repercussions of their actions when the adrenaline was fueling them, but as she sobered, she was beginning to see things that he was trying desperately to hide. Unfortunately, her beloved Wolf-kun opened like a book when he was inebriated, and without the pestering of their friends nearby, she was finally ready to browse his pages.

After pushing him to the brink, she kindly slipped her fingers along his cheeks and encouraged him to lower his face. Once he had, she allowed him a moment to comprehend the adjustment in her expression before tenderly drawing their lips together. At first, it seemed like he was hungry for her taste, but the moment she denied his thirsting tongue entry, he clammed up again, and she felt the heat congregate beneath the palms that clutched his face. It was clear that he'd noticed her putting the brakes on their mad dash.

Her heart was still racing as she slipped away from him, careful to keep him within a quiet conversing distance, if not only to moderate the look in his eyes as she spoke. "Tell me your secrets," she whispered. "Otherwise, this isn't going to work."

Saburōta was staggered by her sudden adjustment, and then a part of him worried that it wasn't as unexpected as he made it out to be. Just like he'd feared, she was back to the Neirah he'd remembered, but he didn't understand why she'd felt the need to derail their progression. Did he do something wrong? His addled mind scrambled to try and retrace their clumsy steps to figure out what he should be apologizing for to make it last. It would sound prettier than begging her not to stop, not to leave. He certainly couldn't demand that she stay with the way he was shaking. It was humiliating, but he couldn't stop, and when she stepped away from his body, he felt his heavy chest ache.

His touch was back on Neirah's arm so fast that he'd almost toppled after peeling himself away from the support of the partition at his back. "P-please don't leave! I-I'll do better!" He immediately gagged on the sound of his slurred distress, and he felt his face tighten with restrained emotion. When he comprehended how strict his touch was, he quickly retracted it, afraid that his aggression might push her further away if that was what it came off as. "I won't say it anymore," he prattled timidly. He quickly lowered his eyes, poking his forefingers together sheepishly as he tried to talk her into staying by his side. "I-I'll call you Lion-chan if that's what you want."

It was Neirah's turn to take his hand, her clearing mind retracing their steps to figure out why she'd knowingly set them up for failure. That was the reason why it had taken them so long because neither of them was sure it was what they wanted. The reality wasn't always as charming as the fantasy.

Saburōta quietly whinged when Neirah dragged him onto his bedside, and for a moment, he thought it might have worked. But that was when he turned to look at the face she wore when she joined his side. Her beauty was emphasized by moonlight and bustling street life that Saturday night, and she was beautiful. She was so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled beneath her lashes, and her damp hair had worked its way free of its bind until pieces of her bangs slipped over her tan brow. That encouraged her to raise her fingers to the pin in her hair to unleash her wild tresses. The radiant spirit she was had always entranced him, and now that he had her within his reach, he understood that maybe she was more than he could handle.

And those vivid, fiery eyes were staring vacantly forward, her expression weighted with disdain. It caused Saburōta's last defence to crumble. "I-I'm sorry…" He could barely hear himself speak, so he was startled when she'd turned to look his way. "I can't…"

Neirah's frown was distressing when she turned his way to the sight of him flopping onto his back and dropping his forearm over his wet eyes. Such was the emotional drunk. He always found something to cry over. But this time, she knew it was a legitimate concern that was serious enough to stop both hearts from racing together.

But she still wanted to be closer. She wanted to prolong their nearness, and maybe now that they were rethinking their actions, the façade would fade and let them enjoy the endearment that had gotten them as far as they'd come.

"I am pathetic, aren't I?"

Neirah nudged up against his side and burrowed under his arm, startling a weak gasp from within him when she gently laid her lips against his. The kiss was gentle, at first, but when she realized he was apprehensive after her last denial, she initiated a deeper response. She could tell by his relieved sigh that he needed the assurance, and his palm adjusted so that he could flex his grip against her nape.

To Neirah, it felt like a farewell kiss. It was unhurried and gentle, mixed with the taste of his longing and sorrow when she noticed his tears hadn't stopped falling. The way he held her against him contained traces of surrender and quiet repentance. It was clear to her that he had given up on any hope that they could make it work.

It was honestly better than he ever could have imagined it, but unfortunately, it was easier for him to imagine what it felt like to hold her than it was for him to consider his life without her. If he miss-stepped, even slightly, he could destroy everything that he had fallen in love with over the years they'd been by each other's sides. That recognition was what hurt him the most.

When she backed away from their kiss, she wanted to connect their gazes, but she worried that was the last thing he would need. Instead, she returned to his side, laying her head against his chest so she could listen to the irregular palpitations of his heart beneath. "Why don't you like it when I call you baby?"

Saburōta stared up at the ceiling, his gaze tapering on the abyss as his jaw locked around his words. From where his legs still draped over the side of his mattress, his toes curled beneath his socks, and he wondered when it was that he'd kicked his shoes off, or where he'd left them. If he was sober, he could have come up with an excuse. He could have played it off as a joke or turned it around somehow. But he wasn't sober. He wasn't even sure how he was conscious at this point.

"Shōhei mentioned before that your parents fought a lot." She felt his body stiffen beneath her comfortable snuggle, but she didn't falter. "He says that's why you spent so much time at his place when you were kids."

When he began to shake again, she noted that it was likely with humiliation, and she considered that maybe his eyes began to weaken a second time. "That was why you were there that night when Goya chased me into the boatyard. You were trying to get away from home, weren't you?" With the way she'd initiated the exchange, he took notice that she'd figured him out, and there was nothing he could say to deny her. That was how she knew that she was on the same page as him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I'm sick of people lookin' down on me, that's why!"

When he raised his voice without an ounce of hesitation, it had frightened her enough to raise off his chest, and when she had, their gazes connected for the briefest of moments.

It was short-lived because as soon as he caught the concerned flicker in her eyes, he was retreating. He scoffed lightly to brush off the sentiment before throwing his legs over the side of his bed and flopping onto his side to avoid her scrutiny. It was too late to act tough, so he just gave up. He was too exhausted to fight it anymore.

Neirah was just about to speak when she heard his small voice raise from where he'd turned away from her attention.

"T-that's why I joined HOMRA in the first place," he muttered weakly. "I'm so sick... of being pitied…"

The sinking of her heart carried her trembling lips with it as she sighed her defeat. "You fool," she breathed out gently. "Is that what you think this is?"

He missed his hat. He missed his hood. He just wanted to throw his comforter up over his head and pretend that the world didn't exist, but she was sitting on the blanket, and he didn't dare to ask her to shift her weight. So what if he was childish? It's not like she hadn't realized that long before that night.

His jaw ached with tension, and he wasn't even sure how he'd managed to part his grinding teeth to speak. "That's what she used to say all the time."

Neirah fell back on her knees against the mattress, watching the unsteady heaving of his shoulders as he sniffed back his shamed tears to replace them with angry pouting. It didn't take much thought power for her to understand that he was talking about his mother.

"My old man was an asshole and treated her like garbage. I wish he'd just left us alone, but for whatever reason, he stuck around." He snorted. "And obviously, I wasn't exactly his idea of a model kid." His bitter gaze narrowed before he closed his eyes entirely, hoping that when he opened them, he'd be talking to himself in the dark. "Every time he turned on me, she was right there, tellin' him to piss off."

And he would always be her baby boy.

She was so glad that she had sobered up before him that she could have cried herself, and the entire aura in the room shifted with the weight of his modest mystery revealed. Nothing had made more sense to her at that moment. Not the reason why he always made an effort to protect her, or his hesitancy when it came to self-assurance, and most importantly, his distaste to be continuously reminded of the unpleasant memories every time she called him _baby_.

"Bandō…"

Saburōta pinched his eyelids together tightly and ground his teeth, recoiling bitterly to the sound of her revised address. "Stop it," he hissed indignantly under his breath. "That's not what you call me." He hated it. He hated feeling like things were going to change because she felt sorry for him. Even if he'd disliked the way she had called him _baby_ for the last four years, it was and always would be their thing. He didn't want that to change. He didn't want _them_ to change. It didn't matter how good it felt to be the centre of her attention. It wasn't worth risking everything to enjoy the advancement for a possibly fleeting moment. He didn't want to risk letting her down.

Saburōta peeked his eyes open to thin slits when he felt the sudden pressure of her brow striking his shoulders, and when he didn't retreat, her arms slowly curled around his front to drape around his chest. He quietly peeked the contact, her bronzed skin standing out against the centre of his light complexion as she coiled her fingers like she thought she could steady his heartbeat with her embrace. He couldn't keep from holding onto the moment, his hand raising to cover hers and just share the reassuring heat for a little while longer.

"I never pitied you for a second." Neirah's whisper was faint as she closed her eyes and recalled the memories that she held so dear to her heart as she lined his back. "I think what you did that night was amazing. I always have."

Saburōta's breathing hitched, and his halved gaze widened to the sight of the shifting room. He wanted to ask her to repeat herself, just in case he'd misheard her but didn't want to come off any more pathetic than he already had.

When his shuddering subsided momentarily, a deep flush coloured her cheeks as she tightened her grip on him. "You stood up to Goya before you were ever a red clansman. Then, you chased after him again in Minato to try and protect me. Bandō, whenever I'm in trouble, it's always you who's there to look out for me."

He immediately stiffened, growing bitter again when he whirled to face her. "I told you to stop that! Don't change the way you-!"

Saburōta's entire world had been unstable, but it shook all over again when he spun into her embrace only to meet the gloss of reflective tears rolling over her rosy cheeks. The guilt struck him into submissive silence, and he completely lost his train of thought.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whimpered frailly. "I thought I was being cute, but it turns out that I had it all wrong. I ruined everything."

After retracting his touch, Saburōta's head began to throb with uncertainty while he contemplated the dampness of her face. In all the time he'd known her, he had never seen her cry, and it was all his fault. "Ts-Tsukiyo…?"

It was Neirah's turn to hide her face, so she did. She pushed her nose up against his chest and nuzzled his warm skin to conceal weak eyes. "You're right, it's strange," she admitted vaguely. "Call me Onē-san."

"But…"

Her defiance displayed in the way she tightened her hold on him, her gentle sniffles muffled by his comforting embrace. That moment had stayed with her, and it would remain there for a lifetime. Communicating was more than words, and everyone did it differently. It wasn't as easy as being able to say the words. _I love you_. It seemed so easy. But the love that passed between them wasn't the same kind of love that had begun their journey that night. It was better. It was stronger, and it meant the world to her.

Once they'd settled comfortably on his bed, she sniffled lightly and picked her PDA out of her dress. He seemed interested in her illuminated screen and the absent scrolling, but he didn't pry as she considered her messages.

**From Nii-chan at 10:46 p.m.:** _Did you get our guy?_

Neirah's face was too hot to conceal against her friend even as they remained locked together for comfort while she plucked away at her screen to reply. All she wanted was to respond to Izumo with_ Yeah. I've got our guy. He's right here, safe with me._

**To Nii-chan at 11:51 p.m.:**_ Sorry, something came up. I'll figure it out tomorrow. _

Saburōta curiously watched as Neirah tucked her phone to the side of his bed and draped herself over his front. He let her sit quietly for a moment, trying to avoid prying into her business as she stared absently into his bare chest. But soon, curiosity got the better of him. "S' everything okay?"

Neirah nodded meekly, no hesitancy in her quiet voice as she responded. "Tat-chan was worried, so I let him know that I'm staying out tonight."

"W-wait, y' mean h-here…?" _With me?_

"If that's alright…"

It felt nice to consider that even after all his fumbling, she wanted to stay. So, surrendering to the comfort they'd found, no matter how temporary, he submitted to his exhaustion and closed his eyes, dedicated to enjoying the feeling of her snuggled up in his protective embrace for just one night. "O-okay, and he's cool with that?"

Neirah smiled and responded to his possessive grip by relaxing entirely with the feeling of belonging washing over her. "It's Tat-chan, Wolf-kun," she softly teased. "He's always okay with everything." And maybe that's because he always believed that everything would work out. So, just for a moment, she let herself believe that he was right.

It was pushing midnight by the time they'd settled peacefully and barely staving off sleep, so he didn't pay much attention to the fact that he was almost positive that Neirah's phone always rang when Tatara messaged her, and no one else. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he'd overthought something. Besides, he knew what she would say as soon as he asked:

Minutiae, Bandō, baby.


	3. Stolen

**Stolen**

* * *

**September 16th, 2012 12:38 pm**

"San-chan!" There was a typical song in Shōhei's voice as he entered HOMRA's headquarters, relieved to be waving at the sight of his comrade sitting at the bar safe and sound. His smile broadened as he lowered his arm, dropping a reassuring palm onto Saburōta's hunched shoulder and feeling the way his friend's body shuddered with surprise. "Man, I tried to call you last night, but you didn't answer. I was really worried! It's not like you to just ignore your phone all night." That sounded nicer than instigating that he knew his friend typically didn't have anything better to do than wait by the device in hopes that somebody wanted to acknowledge his existence.

Saburōta lazily flopped his head to one side, continuing to clutch it against the ice pack that he'd nearly had to beg Izumo for upon his arrival. "Too loud," he muttered grimly. And the room became well illuminated during his stay, as noticed when he turned to match Shōhei's greeting. Saburōta motioned like he might have glanced towards his mate, but as soon as he caught the intensity of the midday sun rays filtering through the front windows of the bar, he bit out a bitter hiss and recoiled. "Too bright."

Peeking over Saburōta's shoulder, a gentle hum of inquiry filled Shōhei's voice. "Ah, San-chan, your glasses." Shuffling into the seat next to his friend, Shōhei folded his arms against the bar top with concerned inquisition. "Did you lose them last night?"

As agonized as he was to be fighting his nearly crippling hangover, he couldn't contain the menacing smirk that spread over his flushing face. "Lost somethin' last night…"

_Hm?_ Shōhei leaned closer to try and catch the words that barely mumbled past Saburōta's lips. "What was that?"

The boys yelped with surprise the moment that Yō arrived and slammed his palm down flat against the bar to make a grating clacking noise that seemed to echo in poor Saburōta's ears. It seemed like their fellow clansman had known all too well what Saburōta's intensions the night prior would entail. "Heard you were out on the prowl last night, Bandō," he instigated with a devilish snigger. The cigarette flopping to one side of his smirking mouth twitched with his expanding beam. "_So_? Did you hit up that place I told you about?"

"He hit somethin' up looking like that," Masaomi instigated dryly. "Are you okay? It looks like last night really beat the hell outta you."

Shōhei's curiosity only worsened as he watched Saburōta stare vacantly forward with a bashful smile on his face. The expressions fighting for dominance over Saburōta's face noted that there was something more that he was interested in divulging, but he wasn't entirely sure it was appropriate. Shōhei found it incredibly enlightening. "Wow, you look pretty guilty," he mused. "What _did_ happen last night?"

From where he arranged liquor on the shelf behind the bar, Izumo tilted his instigating grin over his shoulder towards the gathering. "Yeah, Bandō. Tell them what you told me." He, himself, had already heard the story because he'd made the youth choke it out before passing him his requested relief. "You know it's probably the only way they're going to shut up."

Suddenly, it seemed like Saburōta's migraine vanished because he quickly dropped his ice and spun in his stool to face their direct enquiry. There was an excited gleam in his eyes that they usually wouldn't have been privy to if he'd had his sunglasses on. "From now on, none of you can lump me in with Yata when you tease him about being a virgin!" He sounded so triumphant that it made the gathering flinch.

His certainty startled Shōhei especially. "Wait… you really-?" His expression brightened as the self-assured Saburōta closed his eyes, and confidently nodded his head with a dorky expression of delight plastered on his face.

"Yep! I can't remember a damn thing, but she left her panties at my place." After wickedly grinning towards the hands he held out like he was bragging the elasticity of the waistband, he quickly looked over each shoulder. When he was sure that there wasn't anybody nearby that would judge the insinuation that he was going to make, he lowered his voice and continued. "And I'm tellin' you. They're the kind that only super hot chicks wear."

Masaomi's expression faltered with disbelief when he considered how much like Yō Saburōta had just sounded, and it disturbed him. "How would someone as inexperienced as you even know that?"

Being the curious creep that he couldn't contain, Yō lowered his voice as well and grew closer to their victorious colleague. "What colour were they?"

After snorting his derision, Saburōta's expression twisted as he cut his mischievous leer Yō's way. "Red, obviously."

The boys startled the moment they heard the hollow clicking of thick boot heels, and the four of them immediately shot their attention towards where Neirah casually strolled through the front doors. She walked as tall as ever, her alluring smile utterly oblivious to their scheming across the room as she adjusted her leather jacket collar and dusted the front of her dark denim.

Catching the sight of their sleazy expressions waiting for her permission to carry on, she peeled her dishevelled bangs from her forehead and cocked a brow their way. "Good morning, gentlemen."

"H-hah, good morning, Nē-chan." Yō couldn't help but perspire as she neared them with a suspicious look in her eyes that remained fixed on his hesitancy.

Once she'd approached his face, Neirah's devious smirk tugged the corner of her lips up with her skepticism. "You look pretty guilty this morning, Chitose-kun," she instigated dryly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were attempting to corrupt my precious Wolf-kun again."

Yō swiftly shook his head to deny her insinuation. "I swear I had nothing to do with it!"

_Mhm_. Neirah didn't bother looking towards Saburōta as she pulled his eyewear out of her deep cleavage and flopped them towards him. "Bandō, baby, please be more careful." After dismissing Yō with a look of warning, she finally turned and glanced towards her friend with a loving smile. "I'd hate for you to lose your _identity_."

"Ah! Onē-san, you found them!" His hangover thanked her when he unfolded the frames and slapped the lenses back against his face with a subtle flush in his cheeks. He wasn't sure why, but her usual sakura blossom scent was stirring memories within him of the night prior, and strangely enough, it didn't grate on his nerves at all to hear her call him _baby_. "I musta dropped them on the way home or something. It sure is lucky that you picked them up!"

Izumo observed Neirah as she left the boys to their triumphs, appreciating that it was just part of the initiation. Boys liked to brag their modest accomplishments, and to be fair, she was kind of interested in the stories Saburōta would come up with about the night prior. From the way he had described the encounter to his rowdy comrades, she knew that he couldn't remember a thing. If he could, he might now sound nearly as proud of himself.

Her genuine smile softened when he peeled his collar away from his neck and flashed where his shirt carried subtle stains even after a thorough washing. He explained that the shade of lipstick matched the colour of the lingerie she'd abandoned at his place the night before. He was almost accurate, but not entirely. Still, it was painstakingly adorable to watch him fill with conceit.

"I kinda feel like I recognize that shade."

Neirah hummed her soft inquisition and diverted her once-fixed attention to where Izumo's low accusation demanded her attention. "What did you say just now, Onii-chan?"

Izumo's brow knotted over his consideration. "Kinda looks like _rosewood_, doesn't it?"

Neirah's casual smile didn't fade as she returned her eyes to the view of her clanmates mingling. "She must have good taste."

After surrendering his intensity, Izumo's gaze tapered suspiciously on her innocence as Yō captured Saburōta in a headlock to congratulate him on _achieving manhood_. It was clear to Izumo that he wasn't going to intimidate Neirah into telling him the truth. "Say, you don't happen to be missing a pair of red panties, do you?" She did say that something had come up.

Her poised gaze remained locked with his as she dug into her pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. "Don't be ridiculous, Kusanagi-san," she gently reprimanded. When he reached out and received the information she'd provided, he was set a little more at ease. After she'd passed along the data, that she had to work extra hard that morning to appease him, she climbed to her feet and started towards her friends. "I'm in a good mood today, so I'll let this one slide."

"Is that so?" he purred curiously. "And just where are you off to now?"

Neirah turned her bright smile over her shoulder and flashed him a playful wink. "Isn't it obvious?" she mocked spiritedly. "I want all the details about the woman who stole my Wolf-kun's heart away from me."

The thought caused a faint chortle to fill Izumo's relaxed tone. "Funny, I thought you'd be a little more jealous that somebody's out there stealin' your boys," he teased. "What with the way you act around Seri all the time."

She lingered by his side and watched the way her companions laughed off the encounter that she knew was most certainly no more than a fictitious one-night stand. That was how Izumo could tell that she was indeed in a good mood. Her face didn't once twist sour when her blue rival found herself mentioned. "Why should I be?" Neirah calmly instigated. "I'm sure there will come a time when all of us have someone special in our lives, but that won't change the way I feel."

With a delighted smile spreading from one side of her face to the other, Neirah's cheeks affectionately ignited when she twirled to face her superior. "The love I have for everyone is stronger than anything else in the entire world," she explained. "And nothing will change that."


End file.
